Cast in Dreams
by Jayni
Summary: Guy POV, spoilers all around. Set postseries two. Guy's dreams continue to haunt him once he returns to England.
1. Prologue

In waking life, nothing has changed.

The King is in his desert, the Prince is on his thrown. Robin in his woods, and I am in his house.

I wonder to myself, as I lie in what was once his bed, if he sleeps at night. If he can reconcile these things that have happened -- how much they did not change anything. The evident loss with no obvious gain.

Perhaps I could have never been a good man, for I must think in these terms. I step forward only to move forward -- there must be reason, purpose, but more, something to walk away with. Ideals, beliefs... they are not things that will feed and keep me in this life. There must be gain. I have been honest with myself of this, and I felt that those I kept close would understand.

In her absence-- with the absence of distraction, I have thought on what it must mean to be a good man. I have come to the conclusion that I simply lack the cunning to hide my own intentions. I do not hide the monster in me, nor my desires or passions, and it is because of this, I will never be a good man. I could never have been.

This much gives me the peace to continue this waking life.

But in sleep, I find no peace.

There, there is no reasoning or understanding -- all the elements converge, and I see over and over those things I've done that have brought me nothing. It's as though the Holy Land truly is a pure and untouched land: every act is buried in its sands.

I wake as though I never slept. Heart pounding, bruises that I can't explain -- even the servants have begun to feign concern. And then there's the mocking.

_"Honestly, Gisbourne. Another rough night?"_

_"Need a little neck rub? Help you sleep?"_

_"Gizzy-- maybe if I kiss you goodnight--"_

I almost want to laugh. In its own way, this life has been a comedy of errors.

I try to kill the king and he lives as though I never existed. As though the threat of me is no greater than a sand fly. He seeks peace now, for a war he should have never been in. This makes him the true king.

I show Robin Hood for what he is: a small outlaw on a big hill -- who has killed more men than he could ever save in this little shire. This makes him the good man.

This is what the Holy Land has done. It has covered us all in a sheet of sand, each grain reflecting an opposite vision to the simple people of England.

So what was it all for then, eh.

Why wake at all?

This is a dangerous question.


	2. 1

I know this one -- I know it well. This one starts as a memory. As it goes on, it will dissolve into something else... part of my mind will sense it, but I do my best to let it play. If I will, or if I fight, it may stir me, and I do not wish to wake.

I did not call her to be here, she is here of her own will. It is the middle of the night, and she is wearing her finest silks. I have seen her in them before, but there have been few occasions... too few. And never this close, not like this.

She is wearing these for me. There is no mistake.

I am in armor. At least, partially. From the waist down. This should be my second skin -- I am a knight, or, at least in my way. In front of her, though, it feels so foreign, so unwelcome. I should know how to wear it, but in front of her, I feel like an entertainer. In a costume. The finest armor, light and tailored especially... and yet it feels like lead, strapped to my legs, anchoring me to the ground in front of her.

I had strayed from the warmth of the fire, drawn to her flame. I bring my hand up to her cheek and it is chilled by the night air, but she flushes under my fingertips. Hher breath halts as I draw near. It does not stop there.

There is bad blood between us, it's true, but I cannot think of what it ever was when she is this close. I even have her mark on my face, but all it does now is direct the corner of my lips upwards.

In reality her hand stole away from mine, and I was too lost in her to snatch it back. But here in my mind, there is no messenger, there is no invisible spot for her to look away or find refuge -- she can only see me, as I have only ever seen her. She cannot meet my eyes, though, which coaxes me to smile, but I do not. I will not give her that yet -- not till I hear her voice speak truth.

_"It's about friendship that's all." _

We could never be friends, Marian, my love.

I know this isn't about friendship. She wants something, she always wanted something. It is the one thing I understood about her better than anything... for I am the same. You step forward to move forward, and on this ground, I am in her path.

She does not relent, nor does she ever retreat. It is why I can only bask in her now.

I will her to reach for me, for her move.

I can almost taste her. I have kissed these lips before and after this memory, and I would have it again. But my will is too strong. So I must try to relax, to let this dream play. Hoping I will not wake too soon.

This turn, her hand is still in mine, and has never left. Resting there, as though it has found safe harbor. I will not shake this moment, I will not tense. I could not be more elated than just to feel her pulse in my hand again.

Her face begins to fade, and I know I am returning to the darkness. I still savor the feel of her hand in mine, though in reality, my hands are calloused and hard and can only recall so much of the fine detail of her delicate fingers. There is a sensation in my lips, a pressure, and they part for her.

But I feel only a breathe escape and I know I am waking. I am in the dark, my eyes are closed, and I cannot open yet. My hands are not on her, but on my bedclothes and the sound of them tearing under my fingers.

I press my head back against my pillow and the vastness of my chamber -- that I am alone, envelopes me, and presses down on me... I cannot inhale just yet.

I do not open my eyes.

I imagine this weight on me is warm. That I can hold it -- that it would have the lightest scent of rose petals, and be dressed in silk.

But then the cock crows, the servants stir, and my lips are cracked and dry.

I must open them now, my eyes -- and force myself to breathe again.

I am awake now, to another day of no difference.


	3. 2

This is a dream of a different sort. Separate memories coming together as though to show me the way things should have happened. Or what I have been able to see then.

I should have found her out sooner.

This turn, I have the Nightwatchman cornered in Locksley. Alan is not there, there is not a circle of mercenaries out the door... there is no one but us. We have tousled -- from one end of the storehouse to the other. I feel the welts all over, beneath the leather, but I cannot stop. My mind knows it is her under there, but I am in my role. I am a monster.

But I am on top now, and pulling the mask away. I am stunned by her glistening eyes. They are unmistakable -- there is no apology there, only uncertainty. She is wincing from my touch.

But I will not let her go.

I feel betrayed, but I know I cannot let her go. Not yet.

My hand is gloved as I pull away the covering on her face, and she is as out of breath as I am, for we have fought so hard for so long. She is now unmasked to me, and I can see her -- all of her at once.

Everything falls together, every moment that I was unsure of her, I now make sense of. The monster in me recedes to the man, whose passion for this woman is just as violent.

She is shaking, but I do not let go.

All you had to do was ask, Marian. Anything of mine is yours. Everything. I would be yours.

I cannot follow how my hand finds it, or when I took my eyes off her face, but I see the scar now. I marked her, though I did not know it. Only a few nights before we were to be wed.

I see this and in my mind, I remember I have killed her.

And now she wears no cloak, only a white dress.

I cannot -- will not let go.

I tell her to ask me. I plead for her to ask me. I am screaming now, but her face does not change -- it cannot, for she is dead beneath me.

Everything I have is yours, if you ask it of me.

But even in my fantasies, I cannot will her to phrase the words -- my mind cannot conceive her forming these words. What comedy.

No no -- in its darkest corner, it knows she would not ask these things of me. She would have none of me that she could not connive, or elicit. When I met her, she was so composed -- so reserved. But then in time, she discovered her charms, and strung me up as her most willing victim.

My face wants to smile, my heart wants to laugh and break again, while my body sinks down to find her. And I realize it is dark again. My lips part, and I know not what will come out, but only what they find -- I cannot breath. Against my face is not sand, nor straw, nor raven hair... but linen. Coarse, and unforgiving.

My other senses stir, I feel my legs are tangled in the bedsheets, and I cannot move. My knuckles are raw as they graze the uneven planks beneath my bed, my arm hanging off its edge. I can feel the beginnings of bruisings... and I know if I lift my head I will find the evidence that I have had a night terror.

My heart is pounding, as though to escape in a way I cannot. It cannot run back into the dream, and I cannot retreat into the past. But if I were to hear her voice now, and she were to ask me for anything... I would give it, be it at my fingertips or at the end of my blade.

But it is all too late now, and I am awake again.


End file.
